Laynefax
by 2shot
Summary: Santana, brand new divorcée, finds her fresh start in the small town of Laynefax, Connecticut. There she meets the oddest, most attaching people, and Brittany, owner of the town's best diner.
1. Prologue: Leaving Society Hill

GLEE belongs to FOX and co.

* * *

_"Michael, we need to talk."_

* * *

I stare at the papers in front of me, legal verbs and proper words jumping at me against the crisp white of the documents. The black ink is harsh against the thin material, but I read over the letters like a child would with his favorite book. I haven't felt this way in over five years - warm all over and inappropriately giddy. It's weird how things work out; I felt lonely with my husband and his business associates, work friends or colleagues, nodding along at parties with my third glass of red wine. I felt out of place talking to his grandmother, Soraya, the warmest and kindest woman I ever met. She accepted me with open arms, and in return I made her only grandson unhappy and frustrated.

I scoff, _what a catch I am._

I felt alone surrounded by dozens and yet here I am, with no hand to squeeze my shoulder, feeling like a queen in a bee hive. I take a calm breath as everything hits me again, the third time it's happened today. My hands are folded on my lap as I mindlessly play with the cap of a pen, twisting and twirling it. I can hear the faint sound of the kitchen cuckoo clock ticking behind me, the old dusty mechanics much too tired to bring out the bird anymore. I've always hated that thing, but my mother-in-law expected to see it whenever she came visit, so I had to live with it. I feel more relieved about not having to hear the damn clock anymore rather than being officially divorced.

...which, Santana, is kind of sad.

I roll my eyes at myself and look around, keeping my head high as I survey the place I called home for five years. I did love it in the beginning. The design is sharp and modern, with dark walls opposite lighter ones to give it an edge, and a varnished wooden floor covered by the finest carpet under the couch and coffee table. The view is one out of a movie, especially when the evening sunlight hits the cobblestone streets and dark red bricks just right. It's a charming neighborhood, one that inspires old-world romance and midnight walks in the small park of Society Hill, and I never complained. Michael really knew how to win me over, even if he didn't need to anymore.

Things did change quickly after that though, and I realized I'd dug myself into a hole. Mike was promoted, the youngest to achieve that honor in his company, and I became one of those neglected wives I used to make fun of on television. Still, he was kind and good to me, and I was attentive and loyal to him, _just as it should be_, my abuela would say. We never talked about children or getting a pet, but when he did bring up kids on our fourth year anniversary, I faked a cough and agreed on a pet instead. Two weeks later I had a lazy golden retriever sitting on my lap and watching trashy reality shows with me. Her name is Snix and she barks and growls at everyone but me, so really I have no reason to dislike her.

Mike let me keep her, but it's not like he had a choice in the matter. Snix would have run back to me anyway. I love that there's at least someone in this world who seems to enjoy being around me, though it's probably because I never bother her when she sleeps on the bed or put a leash on her when we're at the park. She's harmless and loyal so I never worry about her wandering off. She's a sucker for me because I'm a sucker for her pathetically adorable face.

Speak of the dogvil; I smile when I feel her snout nudge my knee, her way of asking me to scratch her head. I ruffle her ears and massage her neck, smirking when she shifts and her tongue sticks out with each breath she takes.

"It's just you and me now, huh?"

Her dark eyes glance over my other hand and then I sigh as she wanders off to the kitchen, tail wriggling mindlessly. It must be nice to have so little care in the world. I know I keep telling my mother I'm excited about the fresh start, but really I'm scared crapless. I realized a long time ago Philadelphia doesn't have anything left for me anymore.

Tuesday Michael came to get the last of his stuff, including two of his suits and my wedding ring – his grandmother's present to me before she passed away. He felt wrong about taking it back because it had rightfully belonged to me and it was a gift, but I assured him it was only right. His grandmother left so little behind her; it was only fair he keep her ring if I wasn't going to wear it anymore. I still catch myself playing with my bare ring finger more often than not though, but maybe that's a wanky thing, not necessarily a bad habit. I do like my fingers, after all.

Mike wasn't surprised when I told him I was moving out as well. He looked tired and a bit older somehow, but I know his job has been kicking his ass lately, especially with the divorce and his new apartment to take care of as well. He asked where I was planning on moving and I told him I wasn't exactly sure, but I was in contact with this woman named Quinn Fabray who was looking for someone to rent her house to. She's planning on traveling around the world for a year so she posted a couple of ads on various rental websites. Her house is situated in a small town in Connecticut called Laynefax, and I contacted her impulsively. I still don't regret it, and I actually really hope things will go smoothly when she comes to Philly this weekend.

She told me she's wanted to visit the city more than once, but never had the occasion to do so before. After a thoughtful pause, she asked if I could be her tour guide for a weekend and then her house would be mine. I was surprised she was so willing to cut a deal like that, but I wasn't going to let it pass me by. Quinn seems like a lovely woman, and we talked more about our love for the Russian ballet rather than the finer details of the move. She has a couple of other interested people but I feel really good about this, which is why I already planned everything I'll show her once she gets here.

* * *

_"I have to admit, I'm really glad you agreed to this."_

* * *

I was right about Quinn. She's a fascinated woman who finds beauty in everything she sees. I wonder if she gets awed so easily because she comes from such a small town, but it's probably just the way she is. She talks and holds herself like a modern Rita Hayworth, and at moments I wonder if she believes photographers are taking her picture from afar. She isn't exuberant or haughty though, far from it actually, and when she mentions the first thing she wants to try is a Philadelphia steak, I know we'll get along just fine. After I've payed for both our meals - she protested a bit but what can I say, I have admirable convincing skills - I show her everything I know, from the museums and the art galleries to the parks and the monuments. I even take her shopping, almost regretting it when I realize we've been at Anthropologie for over an hour. She has a stunning figure and would have surely robbed Grace Kelly of a few of her titles, so the salesman is running in every corner of the shop to please her. It cracks us up and when we finally leave, we start laughing so hard my cheeks hurt and I have to hold my sides to stop myself.

I offer to take her to a café on sunday evening, but she tells me she'd rather eat a sandwich and a salad in Fairmount Park. I'm pleasantly surprised, and we spend two hours walking around the park and enjoying the dimming sunshine sneaking through the thick bushes and trees. Finally we sit near a statue of one of the Florentine lions, the sound of a fountain not too far behind us. I feel like I've known Quinn forever, as if we've been friends for years and this is just us catching up. It's probably why I have no problem telling her about my divorce. I admit that I made the mistake of getting married too young and that the relationship was based on gratitude rather than love. I think to myself that I do love Michael, but in the way friends want their other friends to be happy and successful.

Quinn asks if it was a mutual decision, and I answer that we both calmly talked about it one night over dinner. We were both unhappy, and that was that. No need to make things ugly or worse. Of course I leave the finer details out, like how our sex life was tepid at best and I only ever came when he went down on me. I feel comfortable with Quinn but not _that_ comfortable.

She talks about Laynefax and how it's really a stereotypical close-knit small town, with everyone aware of everyone else's business and affairs. People are friendly and helpful, which is something I can imagine because Quinn has been nothing but kind and warm the whole weekend. She tells me about April's Antiques, a house full of pilled up junk that smells like old books, apple pie and booze. I learn about Rose, Kendra and her sister Terri, the town's infamous gossipers who are usually on Woodraft Street, whispering loudly about fresh, morning news in front of the local grocery store. I also get to know about her friend, Brittany, who owns what Quinn calls the best diner in the State. If I need to find work, Brittany will probably have something for me. The diner is always very crowded, especially for lunch and dinner, and Brittany wouldn't say no to an extra hand.

I'm not too sure because I've never waitressed and I wouldn't want to make a fool out of myself, but I also know I won't be able to live off my savings account for the rest of my life either. The last book I wrote was only moderately successful and I know I don't have the energy to pen another one so soon after the divorce. I may be relieved about it, but it still drained me completely. Maybe I'd be a good waitress after all.

Quinn can't seem to stop rambling about her town, and I already find myself captivated by it. Frankly, I can't wait to live there.

* * *

_"Brittany is very sweet. She'll drive you crazy if you ever mention cats though."_

* * *

I move in three weeks later and I know it's the best decision I've ever made in my life. I only took two suitcases with me, packed with most of my clothes, my favorite novels (and somehow - don't ask me why - I bought two new books before leaving: one on desert recipes, the other on felines), my jewelry, my shoes and Snix's blanket and toys. I also took my computer, various legal documents and the mug my mother made for my twelfth birthday. She hand-painted it herself in red with black dots - something about me being her ladybug - and put my initials on the bottom. I didn't have it in me to leave it behind.

The house is furnished and Quinn stored most of her personal things in the garage. She told me she emptied the drawers, closets, took her pictures down, cleared the bathroom and changed the bedsheets. I know this is a one-year deal and it suits me perfectly. She showed me how to work the tricky shower (push on the knob, turn it and then pull it again), pointed a few of her favorite places on a map and even said I'm welcome to plant anything in the garden. I laughed because really, I've never planted anything in my life save for a money tree when I was seven years old, and that didn't turn out too great.

Quinn left when the cab driver honked for the second time, taking with her the biggest backpack I've ever seen. Her smile was blinding and her eyes sparkling, like a teenager ready to finally see the world. Admittedly I was a bit jealous, but I've visited enough places to know I'm very happy where I'm at right now. I wished her good luck on her adventure, hugged her and waved goodbye when she hopped into the cab. She left her green Volkswagen with me and I'm really thankful for it. I let Mike keep his car naturally, so I'm glad I still have one for at least a year. I love to drive for hours, even if I have nowhere to go to, and I figure it'll be practical if I want to go to Hartford, which is roughly forty minutes away. It'll be an awkward fit if I need to take Snix with me, but I'll manage.

I always do.


	2. When can I start?

Note for visualization: Pierce's Diner is based on Luke's Diner in Gilmore Girls, although it's a bit bigger.

* * *

_Remember when waking up didn't involve drool and a tongue lashing. _

* * *

"Bitch!" I scream, pulling myself up and yanking Snix off of me. She whines and rolls on the bed, staring back at me with no care in the world.

"You little devil…" I groan. I grab a tissue on the nightstand to dry my neck and cheek, scrunching my nose when I feel the slime slide downwards. Yuck.

Snix rolls back on her stomach and sets her head on the comforter, now looking at me with that sad, pathetic little mug that I love. so. much.

"Ugh! How do you do that?" I ask, my hand already patting her behind the ears. I'm such a whipped little sucker, it's terrible. Her tail is wriggling fast behind her, the noise of each slap on the blanket - _tap, pat, tap, pat _– reminding me of her mindless, carefree nature. Still… I wouldn't be so sure. Snix is a conniving mastermind in her own way and on more than one occasion. Maybe dogs _do_ take after their owners…

…_nahhh_, I'm an awesome influence. She was just born a brat.

I sigh and look around me, hand still busy patting her head. I'm surprised when I look at the small clock on the nightstand, 11 a.m. jumping at me in bold, green letters. I haven't slept this much in so long I forgot what is was like to feel completely rested. My eyes don't blink tiredly and my body doesn't ache in places I didn't know existed. I hum as I pull myself out of bed, reminding myself to set the alarm for tomorrow. I love this feeling right now, but I can't wake up this late every morning. I'd feel useless and probably end up like a bum on my couch all day long. That's exactly what I've been running from, and there's no way I'm getting involved with the Kardashians' lives one more year. Too much bling kills the bling. And the little IQ I have left, too.

I stretch my arms over my head and moan just a bit when my bones pop in place. It's a terrible habit that Mike used to hate, but I can't help it; it feels really good. After a big bowl of coffee and feeding Snix, I'm ready to start unpacking the rest of my stuff. Yesterday I was half through the second suitcase when my head started buzzing and I decided to call it a day. It'd been a long and tiring one, and Snix had been barking for the better part of it. She's restless when it comes to new environments, but thankfully she calmed down after an hour or two.

I know I should probably take a shower but unpacking will make me sweat like a jungle pig anyway - very attractive, Santana - so I say fuck it and just pull my hair into a Snooki-wannabe bun. Snix is back to snoozing, which means she won't be bothering me for at least an hour. She has the weirdest sleeping hours but I'm not about to complain. Whatever tames her is good in my books. I walk up the stairs to my (new) room and take out the rest of my clothes first, putting them away in drawers or hanging them in the closet. My shoes are already all on the rack under my coats and jackets, and my underwear set in the highest drawer - away from a curious dog and her drool. I keep my jewelry in a box my cousin's daughter made for me (it's an ugly thing with big green splotches and "Sandtana" written on it, but I still love it) and put it away in the nightstand's drawer.

After two hours I push the empty suitcases in the broom space downstairs and jump under the hot stream of a much needed shower. I wash my hair and sigh at the smell of coconut and lime. The bottle is almost empty though, so I remind myself to write a list of supplies to buy later in the week.

Around 1:30 p.m. my stomach starts grumbling so I grab my handbag, refill Snix's water, give her a couple of treats for being such a champ during the move, and lock her in. I hate doing it but she's not the type to get frustrated or bored, so I know I won't come back to half the furniture chewed or peed on. I leave the door to the enclosed garden open just in case, but I'm pretty sure she's going to wander around the house for ten minutes until she sprawls herself on the couch. If she didn't run with me every weekend, she'd probably be larger than Moby Dick.

I wonder if I should take the car but finally decide against it. I'd rather get used to the place before I start driving around streets I don't know, and it only takes me ten minutes to reach the center of the town. There's a town square with a fountain and a few patches of grass and flowers, red, orange, yellow and green complementing each other beautifully. A couple is seated on one of the benches around the fountain, and really I would barf if they didn't look so darn cute. Today is quite the mellow day, it seems.

* * *

_"I heard she's from Philadelphia. She writes erotica because her marriage went stale."_

* * *

My eyes bulge out and widen at the words I faintly hear. I just crossed the main street and noticed the grocery store sign before I heard three shrews - in the back of my mind I remembered Quinn's words, 'Rose, Kendra and her sister Terri, the town's infamous gossipers' - prattling words that sounded too familiar. They couldn't be talking about...

"Oh dear," one gasps, "how old is she?"

"About Quinn's age apparently, poor thing. But I tell you Rose, that's what happens when you don't keep you husband on a tight leash."

HOLY HELL, they are talking about me, and with their facts completely backwards too. Bitches, please.

"Excuse me," I cut in. I pull the strap of my bag back up on my shoulder and try to muster my best smile, but really I'm pretty sure it looks faker than Joan Rivers' face.

"Yes?" One asks. They look taken aback but intrigued.

"I just-" suddenly I feel awkward, regretting my impulsive need to shut them up. "Who were you talking about?"

"A woman who just moved in," the youngest says. "We just heard the news a couple of hours ago."

"What's your name cupcake?" The other blonde cuts in.

Apparently they're as dumb as they sound. They've obviously never seen me before but putting two and two together doesn't seem like their forte.

"Santana Lopez," I snarl.

"Oh," they say (but really I could swear they _gush_). There's a small pause before the thinnest - and creepiest - opens her yapper mouth again. "Well, welcome to Laynefax sweetie."

She's shameless. Unbelievable.

"I... thank you," I mumble. I'd love to shove a razor blade or two in their thick skulls but I think I forgot to restock my weave. They're not worth it anyway. Besides, I just arrived and I don't want them to spread malicious lies to the whole town.

"I'm Terri, and this is Kendra," she points at the blonde next to her, "and Rose." Rose is the definition of creepy. The contrast of her clear blue eyes and fiery red hair makes me squirm and clear my throat.

"It's nice to meet you..."

"Oh likewise sweetie," Terri smiles. It's barbie-ish and slightly crooked, and I feel the need to talk quickly so it can disappear.

"Well um... just to clear things up, I don't write erotica," is the best thing I come up with, kicking a pebble on the floor. I feel like a child.

They all blink before Rose, with her fake smile and 50's look, swipes her tongue over her lips. Her cheap, greasy lipstick glistens. "But you are a writer?"

"Yes," I answer, "but for children." Honestly I'm mortified at how they thought I wrote freaking porn. Or else they just thought it was crispier news and went with that. Argh this is frustrating, how did they even know I'm a writer in the first place! So much for the fresh start. I should have listened to Quinn a bit more when she emphasized on the "tight knit" part of the town's description.

"That's nice. Anything we might know?" Terri asks.

"Um I write under another name, Anita Alverio, but my first bo-"

"Oh I know that name," Kendra gasps. Then she points at me with a surprised look. "You're the one who wrote Mouse Kisses?"

I chuckle awkwardly, "That's me."

Kendra gushes, "My three brats love it."

Terri rolls her eyes. "Your pests love everything they can tear up."

"That's true," Rose agrees. "My Emma was never like that."

"Well she still turned out creepier than Edward Scissorhands, now didn't she," Kendra accuses. Her voice is bitchy but I have a feeling it's how their conversations work. Rose doesn't seem phased, she just huffs and tilts her head apathetically.

There's a blank before Terri changes the subject. "Did you hear Dustin Goolsby was arrested for prostituting himself again?"

"No!" Rose and Kendra gasp.

And that's my cue to walk away.

I leave the group with a look of disbelief and the will to forget everything I just heard. There is no way I'm approaching these women again. There is no thin line between their creepiness and boldness; it's all mashed together into a ball of blabber and cheap clothes.

I walk along a few places - recognizing some from Quinn's descriptions, like the porcelain and flower shop - until I reach Pierce's Diner and stop in front. There's a giant FOOD sign on one of the bay windows, and the menu at the side of the entrance. It's smaller than what I imagined but looks big enough to contain the crowd inside. I'm surprised it's still packed, but maybe they have lunch a bit later around here. I spot a waitress balancing two trays with burgers and fries, salads, a bowl of soup and drinks. She looks frazzled but smiles warmly as she serves the food, bustling back to the counter to carry two other plates. I understand why Quinn mentioned they wouldn't be opposed to more help; the place is filled with all sorts of people, from toddlers to children and young adults to elderly people.

I hesitate before pushing the door, wondering if I should maybe drop by later. The waitress notices me before I can turn around though, so I smile right back at her.

"Hello!" She chimes. "Table for one?"

"Yes, please," I nod.

"Actually do you mind the counter?"

I shake my head; I really don't mind and she seems relieved, so I follow her and thank her when she indicates the cushioned stool at the far end.

It's seconds after I sit down that I hear another voice over the loud buzz of the customers.

"You must be Santana."

My eyes snap up and I blink at the sight of straight, blonde hair, clear blue eyes, freckle peppered skin and thin, pink lips curved into a warm smile. If Quinn is beautiful, this girl - woman, goddess, whatever - is out of this world. Or maybe she just materialized out of a Vogue magazine, except, you know, she's not photoshoped and doesn't have a bucket of makeup on her face or Victoria Beckham's clothes on her back. Really she's wearing a dirty apron and I think there's tomato sauce in her hair, but it still feels like I've been punched in the gut with a brick because let's face it, I'm pretty fucking hot, but next to her, Scott Disick would probably call me a greasy peasant.

_You really need to knock that Kardashian shit off._

_And you might want to open your mouth, too._

"Uhh, a lemonade? I mean no! What? Yes I'm Santana, it's nice to meet you."

_Facepalm._

Blonde Deity chuckles and quickly flicks her tongue over her bottom lip. "Quinn told me you'd probably come over sooner or later. I'm Brittany."

Oh.

_Oh._

OH.

"You're Quinn's friend? You own this place?"

She laughs. "Yeah, is that so improbable?"

I panic because that is so not what I meant. When Quinn said "my friend the owner of a diner" I was thinking late thirties and homely and damn that was so dumb of me because why? Why, why, why would I assume anyone Quinn's age, or mine for that matter, couldn't possibly own a freaking diner? _What is your mind, Santana._

"No," I splutter. "I didn't mean anything by that. I'm just surprised is all, I never imagined you'd be so..."

"Blonde? Young? Hot?" She teases.

I chuckle awkwardly and blush. "Something along those lines..."

"Well I forgive you for thinking it'd be old and dusty," she winks. "What can I get you?"

"Do you have lemonade?"

"Sure thing!"

And then she's gone before I can say patooties.

She comes back a minute later with the biggest glass of fresh lemonade I've ever seen. There's a lemon slice wedged on top and a green straw sticking out and my mouth waters at the sight.

(I'm a twenty-five year old lemonade junkie, sue me.)

"There you go," Brittany says, setting the glass right in front of me. She looks at the waitress I assume is behind me, before bending over just a bit and looking at me with a curious smile.

"Did you settle in well?"

I take a sip of the lemonade - fuck that's good - and nod as I set the glass back. "Really well actually, thanks. Quinn was very helpful, so everything went smoothly."

She smiles. It's a really pretty smile. "Cool. How about the shower? It can be a real bitch."

"I managed," I chuckle.

She nods wordlessly before something catches her eyes over my shoulder. "I'll be right back."

She scurries around the counter and I turn on my stool when she reaches the war zone behind me. The same waitress I saw earlier is now balancing three trays, her tongue sticking out as she concentrates hard on her step.

"Sugar!" Brittany squeaks. "You are kickass awesome but you're _not_ Superwoman. Give me that." She reaches for one of the trays and serves a family of four before throwing Sugar an exasperated look. I guess this isn't the first time the girl tried to carry more than she could...

Brittany sighs as she rounds the counter again and whispers something to a rather sweaty guy taking care of a couple's check. Another guy with dirty blond hair flattened by a hairnet pops his head out of the kitchen, putting two plates on a smaller counter. "Chili burger and cheese omelet," he yells, and pops back into the kitchen. The place is pretty loud though, so only Brittany seems to hear him. She swipes her hand over her forehead and grabs the two plates.

"Sug'!" She calls.

I turn back around and notice Sugar grabbing the plates and smiling largely as she sets them on a smaller table with two guys. On her side of things, Brittany is already busy greeting a woman who looks to be in her mid forties and walking her to a table near the bay window. There's a "reserved" sign on it and I realize all these people must have their routine here nailed by now. It's like a freaking canteen and I wonder if it's because other places are more expensive or because the food is really good. Maybe I ought to try some fries...

"Doing all right?" Brittany pops in front of me.

I jump in my seat and exhale a laugh. "Yeah, all good. You guys seem so busy though..." It's just a conversation starter honestly, but I can see Brittany's ears perk up at the words. I know what she's thinking and frankly, I'm thinking it too. I was kind of anxious about it, but seeing Sugar balance three trays at the same time, sweaty guy behind the counter take care of checks and what seems like computer numbers, kitchen boy exhausting his voice for nothing, and Brittany making sure everything is going well and everyone is satisfied without catching a break gave me the push.

She smiles a bit shyly before looking around, attentive to my words but still alert to others. I can see she has great respect for her work.

"It can be pretty tough... we're really understaffed. Sugar is amazing but she can only do so much. It's stressful and not the best pay, so y'know, it's hard to find people...but..."

I bite my lip and look at her hesitantly before I try my luck. "When can I start?"

Her eyes smile before her mouth does, and her panda hug attack knocks me off my seat.


	3. Ablaze

Turns out I was right. My waitressing skills are disturbingly bad. I'm the klutziest dumbass to have ever held three plates at the same time, and I would put Chaplin's Tramp to shame. A bull in a china shop couldn't hold a candle to my destructive skills.

It's not like I'm not trying my best, but I never knew it'd be so damn hard to balance two plates and glasses at the same time. One would think you just carry two trays, but one would be dead wrong. Two trays prevent you from actually serving the food, since both your hands are busy. One tray and your forearm are actually your best option, though I'm still learning about the mechanics of it all. If I knew it was this hard, I'd have tipped all the waiters and waitresses I ever encountered way better. My ego has shrunk to dog poop proportions since my first day of work. Especially when customers get crabby about their meals being swapped, or blame me for the fries floating in their drinks... which all right, I am totally responsible for.

My footing is a mess too, and I've bumped into Sugar more times than I can count. She always moves back gracefully and smiles at me, but I know she gets frustrated when the diner is packed and I manage to trip on _nothing_ and make her stumble as well. The customers are too busy chatting most of the time, so thankfully they don't notice they've got Mrs. Bean in their midst. I think I've embarrassed myself enough for a whole lifetime.

"Hey um, Santana?"

Whubu?

I snap out of it and look up from the counter to meet Brittany's hesitant eyes. She's toying with the dirty apron tucked in her skirt, which she told me actually belonged to her mother before she moved to Boston. It's a plain white thing, but it's got sentimental value so I can understand why Brittany always wears it.

"Yeah?" I croak. My voice has been a mess since yesterday, where I had to yell the food orders to Sam - the cook - over the shouts and cries (not to mention the usual loud chatter) of a family of six. My uterus shuddered at the thought of popping out six brats, and my vocal cords are currently on vacation, which is why I sound like Darth Vader on meth.

Brittany opens her mouth before closing it again, and scratches her temple nervously.

I panic, "Are you firing me?" Oh god this is embarrassing. "I mean I totally understand, I'm probably the worst waitress you've ever had and I know I was late this morning but Snix just had this sneezing fit and god it was awful I thought she was choking and you know how dogs can be she just—"

"Santana, breathe!"

I choke on my words before I blink. "What?"

Brittany just smiles, "You're getting all red - kinda' like the Looney Tunes characters when they eat something really hot."

"Oh. I'm sorry, I just..." ugh I'm such a moron "... ramble a lot when I'm..."

"Nervous?"

I chuckle awkwardly. "Yeah."

Brittany has been so nice since Monday. She's been patient and helpful, showed me the ins and outs of the diner and helped me familiarize myself with the most faithful customers. I also waitressed for the town's selectman, Daniel Schuester, whose neat little bow tie and quiet manners made me 'd'aww. He was a refreshing change from Terri and Rose who came by before, and a little guy named Howard Bamboo who kept looking at his food like it was the saddest thing he'd ever seen. Brittany told me he actually works for Terri at her small furniture shop near the bookstore, so I cut him some slack and payed him a coke. I can't imagine working for that backbiter and not being depressed all day.

"Hey," Brittany coos, "I know it seems hard, but you'll get used to it. You can't imagine how many plates Sug' broke when she started."

I sigh. "Yeah I know, I just didn't think I was that..."

"What?" Brittany asks. I love how she seems so genuine all the time, how her eyes soften and her head tilts just a bit.

"Out of shape, I guess."

She chuckles and wipes the counter in a quick motion. The diner's been closed for about fifteen minutes and Sugar left after we cleaned the tables and turned over the chairs, but I decided to stay a bit when Brittany started sweeping the floor. Sam cleaned his station and left with Sugar, covering her head with his hands when he noticed it was raining. He's possibly the biggest closeted dork there is, whistling the Imperial March when he's cooking or quoting anything from the 40's to the 90's. He's also very in love with Sugar, but his goo goo eyes aren't enough for her to notice it. I told Brittany about it on Wednesday, wondering if something ever happened between them, but she sighed and said Sugar is the epitome of clueless, and Sam much too afraid to ruin their friendship.

Sebastian, who works behind the counter or at the cash register, has tried many times to get them together, but apparently gave up five months ago. He's a great guy, albeit a bit snarky at times, and yesterday we betted $20 on Sugar and Sam's future. Brittany shook her head with a smile and warned us not to get involved, but we both shrugged. Honestly I've been here for about a week and though I'm growing to love the town, I haven't had the time to let loose, so bets are my go-to fun for now.

"Y'know..." Brittany trails off, "I actually kind of have a proposition for you, if you're up to it."

My eyebrows shoot up and I straighten myself on the stool, the same I was sat at when Brittany first talked to me. My back has been killing me so when we finished sweeping, I waited for Brittany on the other side of the counter. She explained every Friday is 'numbers day', so I let my mind wander as she quietly wrote down incomprehensible things in a huge, brown book. She's so meticulous about her work, I'm still in awe she manages everything so well.

"Of course, what is it?"

She smiles, her tired eyes still sparkling as she closes the book in front of her. She looks really pretty today, with her hair pulled up in a neat bun and a black with white motifs bandana styled as a headband. Her bangs are swept to the side, and her sun shaped earrings dangle with every adorable head tilt she does. Her dark skirt stops mid-thigh to showcase those awesome legs of hers, and her top is skin tight and slightly see through today, which really should be illegal because my eyes are attracted to shapes and curves and Brittany has those in all the right places.

This is a valid excuse for checking her out, by the way.

"I need to branch out," she says.

"O...kay?"

Her nose wrinkles and she pouts for half a second before sighing. (_So adorable)_. "It's just... my grandparents built and managed the diner, and then my parents did before they moved to Boston, so it was natural for me to take over but... I don't know, sometimes it feels like wash, rinse, repeat around here you know? I want to change things up a bit, but there's so much work to do and I'll need some help..."

I bite my lip, noticing how her brow wrinkles in frustration. She's trying to say something but the words are either stuck in her throat or too scary to utter out loud. "What are you planning?"

We both stand still before she finally lets out a small puff of air, "I want to start a pastry menu, like maybe... a little bit fancier than what we offer now?"

I'm surprised but honestly I think it's a great idea. When the diner quiets down a bit, Brittany is always in the kitchen shuffling around at her small station (really it's just a corner because apparently Sam is anal about his kitchen and doesn't want her messing with his space), and making a sticky mess of sugar, flour, caramel and other ingredients I don't even recognize anymore. She had Sugar and me taste her chocolate mousse Tuesday, and I got a bite of the creamiest lemon pie yesterday. I thought I was going to come on the spot, but Brittany was looking at me with ridiculously cute apprehensive eyes so I had to bite back my sexual moans just a tinge.

Admittedly that's probably a sign I need to get laid - badly - but let's not get caught up in logistics just now.

"That's - that's great Britt, I think you could definitely rock the pastry chef hat, too."

She smiles bashfully, "No way, I'd have to hire someone el-"

"Are you kidding?" I cut her off. "Brittany you totally got this; and I mean... yeah I wreck stuff more than anything for now, but once you've got the menu narrowed down and maybe a pastry window installed... I'll be the freaking Black Widow of waitressing, and you can be in the kitchen all day without worrying about greeting people or helping Sug' and I out."

Her nose scrunches up and she tilts her head to the side. "Doesn't Black Widow blow shit up and kickbutt everyone?"

"Well... _yeah_, but you know... she's still... I mean... uh..."

"I'm just messing with you," she grins.

My cheeks turn hot and next thing I know, I'm stuttering like an imbecile. "You, you—"

"—are totally awesome and funny?" Brittany supplies with a teasing smile.

"No, you're a big... metaphor bully!"

She laughs, then leans over so her arms are laying on the counter and holding her up. "Am I really?"

Her eyes are full of mischief and amusement and something else that makes me gulp and look down for a brief second. Her face is so close to mine, I can smell the blue mint on her breath and the sweet, orangey scent of her perfume. It makes me dizzy, so I swallow back an unintelligible phrase and shake my head instead.

She smiles, a secret sort of smile, before straightening herself up and turning around without a single word to walk to the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later I'm standing awkwardly in the kitchen, looking at her doing an inventory and humming as she opens and closes some drawers or brushes her dexterous fingers over shelves of ingredients and utensils.

Sometimes she crouches down and I blush because, _woah, I am totally looking at her ass_, and look away, and other times she just stands there with a pout and a frustrated expression on her face. Then, when I least expect it, she turns to look at me and smiles without a word. At first it unsettled me, but now it just feels natural and... safe? It just makes me smile right back.

"You can leave you know," she says for the second time. I have the feeling she feels bad about me staying for so long, but really I have nothing better to do and why not stay here instead of an empty house. My neighbor, the local high school's swimming coach, offered to look after Snix for the day since her own dog is in desperate need of a pal, so that's another thing I don't have to worry about for now.

"Nah I'm good, I figure you could need a hand... And you're kind of the only person I know here, so I'm probably gonna stick to you like superglue for a while. Sorry about that."

She chuckles. "That's fine by me."

I smile back and decide to make myself useful, so I walk next to her and side-bump her butt with mine to get her attention. Unprofessional, I know, but that's what impulse does to you.

She stands up and looks at me with half-amusement, half-disbelief. "Did you just... bump my ass?"

I shrug, "Yeah. So how can I help?"

"Oh you are so paying for that."

"Wait, what?"

She laughs, "I don't know about you folks in Pennsylvania, but here you don't just go around bumping your boss' ass, _Lopez_."

I open and close my mouth twice before I know what to say, "I-I... just... tried..."

Well, so much for _knowing what to say_.

She smirks, "You really need to work on that phrasing problem you have."

"Oh my god, I don't have a phrasing problem, I was just trying to be... I don't know... friendly...? I've never worked with other people before, well besides my publisher and all... but she's a cranky bitch so we just talk about work and deadlines, and I mean that's what... I was just—"

"Santana?"

"Yeah?"

"You're rambling again."

Fuck. "Crap, I'm sorry."

She smiles before showing me a paper with a bunch of columns and scribbles on it. "We need to check all these ingredients and the quantity tonight, because Sam gets real grumpy when I forget to put an order in."

"Wouldn't he know better about that?"

"Oh yeah he usually does it, but sometimes he needs to babysit his little sister and brother, so he leaves right after we close."

"Oh okay, so I'll do this list and you can do the other."

"That's really nice, thank you Santana."

"No problem."

* * *

It's thirty minutes in and I've checked and listed every item on my sheet. I've been shuffling around a bit uselessly for the last few minutes, talking to Brittany here and there about the week and the people in the town. She explained every one is really welcoming and open to discussion, much like Quinn told me, but sometimes people can be a bit superficial about town gossip or anything remotely exciting. She doesn't delve too much into that, mostly because the diner takes up all her time, but sometimes it's hard not to overhear Terri, Rose and Kendra when they talk and guffaw loudly at their table.

I also learn the whole building is actually hers, so she lives over the diner and sublets the loft on top. Quinn lived there before she moved out to her own house, and now it's empty most of the time.

"So what's your next book about?" Brittany asks.

I pause what I'm doing before turning around to look at her shelving ingredients, her mouth curved into a small, sly smile.

"How did you—"

"Quinn told me on the phone... And I assume that's why you have a publisher."

"Ah, Quinn, of course."

"I mean you can't blame a girl for askin'," she winks, and sets some clean knives back in their place. She then moves to the sink in three graceful steps, making her dark skirt twirl just a bit under her apron.

I chuckle at the girlish stance she takes as she washes her hands. The only thing missing is her lifting her left foot behind her and she'd be set to be the next Queen of Genovia. Anne Hathaway, you have found your match.

"And here I thought you had impeccable detective skills," I smirk.

I'm not surprised Quinn let it slip that I'm a writer; she did tell me Brittany is one of her closest friends after all.

Brittany swivels and wipes her hands on her apron (which really just probably dirtied them all over again, because hello, that thing is covered in burnt caramel and chocolate), her lips jutting into a small pout.

"Darn, I'm caught."

I laugh, the sound bubbling in my throat and making me feel all warm. If I weren't so badass, I would even use the word fuzzy.

_Real badass you are with your children's books._

_Shaddup._

"Maybe I should ask Quinn for some grub on you, huh? I mean it's only fair..."

"Grub?" Her nose wrinkles and she frowns confusedly. "Isn't that like, a larva or something? I'm not a caterpillar."

I click my tongue. "You are hilarious, Brittany Pierce."

She smiles widely and cocks her head, "Really?"

I frown, thinking she made a joke. Sometimes she'll say something completely weird but with the most serious face, so I never know what to expect. I like it; it's so different from what I used to have with Mike or his friends. They always said the most predictable things.

She chuckles to break the silence and shakes her head, her fingers tickling over a pack of flour still open at her station. I take a step back, arching an eyebrow with a cocky smirk.

She grabs the pack of flour, toying with the paper edges, closing them and opening them again, almost cradling the pack to her body. I'm not so sure about trusting her with that mischievously playful look on her face, and this looks like the beginning of a food fight I already lost. Crap.

"Quinn and Sugar say that too..." she trails off, smile still in place. "That I'm funny, that is."

She steps forward, eyes still boring into mine, growing bolder when my back hits the wall and my palms feel the cold surface behind me. Damnit. I swallow back the curse, feeling my heartbeat pick up when she gets closer; so smooth I can't even hear her footsteps.

I think of a different approach, trying to throw her off. "You sure talk about Quinn a lot—"

"She's my best friend," she points out.

"—and stayed over at her place, took a shower..."

Her eyes widen and she stops. "Are you implying..."

I smirk. "I am."

She gasps before her eyes soften and she takes another step, now only an arm away from me. I eye the pack of flour before trailing back up her stomach, past her breasts, her delicate neck and finally her eyes. Suddenly, with her looking at me like that, I don't feel so much like smirking anymore. I was only teasing her with the Quinn thing, a little jab to destabilize her, but now it doesn't feel like so much of a joke anymore.

"She's looking for her sister."

I frown, opening my mouth to ask—

"Quinn." Brittany simply states. "Her sister left home when she was nineteen, telling her parents she'd go around the world and that she never wanted to see them again. Quinn was only ten, she never knew why... but there was always this missing piece. Quinn was already my friend, but I tried being a sister too. What else could I do, she always looked so sad. So to this day, that's what she is to me."

I feel so foolish now, making a joke out of their obvious close friendship. "I didn't mean to mock or anything..."

"I know you didn't," she chuckles, making me smile in return. Her eyes are so blue when she laughs. "That's why I'm telling you, you dork."

I let out a shaky breath before my shoulders tense when she lifts her hand with the pack. She's smirking harder now, so I make a prayer and hope I won't look like Kim Kardashian when she got flour bombed. God that was some funny shit, but looking at Brittany and the weapon in her hand, I don't really feel like laughing. There's no way to reach the exit without bumping into her, so I close my eyes and make myself small.

Instead of sprinkling flour on my face, I feel her warm breath and hear a small laugh, making my heart thump and my eyes open. She's looking down at me, her arm extended over my head. I look up and feel completely stupid when she sets the pack on a high shelf, and brings her arm back down.

Her smile grows and I can hear her take an intake of breath as she whispers, "You're silly."

I gulp as I nod stupidly, and she winks before she turns around and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me with a warm feeling twirling in my stomach and my nerves ablaze.

* * *

**an:** Your feedback for last chapter has been awesome. Many thanks and strudels for ya'll, it really gets the writing juices flowing. Please let me know what you thought of this chapter :)


	4. Kaplutz

This morning has been the strangest. Once, Sandy Ryerson pulled me into his Socks & Linens store to introduce me to a sachet of marijuana, but even _that_ doesn't come close to the weirdness of seeing Laynefax completely deserted.

I'm not even sure I should be going to work, but when I see Sugar sat in the diner, legs dangling as she reads, I'm more relieve than I probably should have been.

"Hey," I say, pushing the door open. "Where is everyone? It's like the freaking Sahara out there."

Sugar flips a page of her magazine and sighs dramatically. "It's Kaplutz."

"... sure?"

She finally lifts her head to look at me and smiles, "No, it's Kaplutz. The day of the PoBe."

"Is there like, some booze in your coffee or something? Because I'mma need to get in on that."

She laughs and pivots on the stool, putting her magazine down and readjusting the large, pale blue bow on top on her head. Frankly, her clothes are butt weird most of the time, and they often look like what the offspring of Minnie Mouse would wear if she had bumped uglies with Iceman, but weirdly it suits Sugar and her endearing dramatics.

"Kaplutz is Polar Bear day; he's Laynefax's mascot. Well," she trails off, rolling her eyes at herself, "he died over sixty-five years ago, but you can find him at the 'Fax Museum if you want to. Anyway it's not officially an off day, which is why we're not really closed... but ya' know, people don't go to work either way, and the ones who don't work sleep until noon."

"Huh, okay. So we're celebrating a dead polar bear?"

"Yea—"

"Wait, how was there even a polar bear here in the first place?"

"Well—"

"Actually you know what? Nevermind. Where's Brittany?"

Sugar pouts again - she's a weird shade of cray cray but weirdly attaching? - and points a finger to the kitchen before picking her magazine back up. I thank her and quietly slide to the kitchen, popping my head in when I hear the familiar clinks and clanks. Sam is flipping pancakes - there are various shapes so I'm assuming he's more bored than anything else - while whistling under his breath, his hairnet forgotten as he leans away from the pan. He's convinced he's Matthew McConaughey's long lost brother or something, which is why most of the time his hair looks like bleach met key lime pie.

"Hi Sam," I smile.

"Hey," he drawls.

"Still sticking to the lemon in your hair huh?"

His eyes widen as he looks around and starts stuttering, "What? No way! What? I don't... put juice in my... hair, I'm— I'm a dude!"

I snort, "Really? Having a dick is your excuse?"

He groans and then sighs, "Fine, I dye my hair with lemon juice. But don't tell Sugar okay? Please."

I roll my eyes and smile, "I won't, relax."

Then I ask, "Hey um, where's Britt?"

He turns his head and motions to the furthest corner before ducking out of the kitchen, probably to talk to Sugar or take a breather. I move around the countertop and pans in the middle and smile when I see her silhouette.

She's on the other side of her station in a rather cramped corner, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, with wisps of honey blonde sticking out a bit from everywhere. Her lips are pinched and her brows furrowed as she scrapes some dough off a rollpat and sets it aside. She's wearing a dark blue dress under the ever-present apron tied around her waist, and when she hunches just a bit, the invisible lines of her back fall down to her perfectly round...

...pastries.

Wait. What?

"Santana?"

"Huh?"

"I asked if you wanted to try one of my éclairs? There's chocolate, lemon, coffee..."

I blink and frown as she goes on about the different kinds, my only thoughts revolving around the fact Brittany went from being over _there_, to right here in front of me without me noticing her actually moving. If someone is editing my life right now, it's a seriously choppy job with a bunch of jump cuts. Maybe the ghost of Godard is my editor?

_Focus!_

Right.

"Yeah strawberry, totally."

"... and caramel," Brittany trails off. Then she stops, blinks as my answer registers and starts laughing. "You can't make strawberry éclairs silly. Or wait... maybe you can? I should totally find out."

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, I'll try coffee."

She grins and hands me one, waiting for me to take the first bite. When I do, it's like someone put pop rocks and whipped cream in my mouth and made it the best moment of my life. Hallelujah, I can die a happy woman.

"Holy f'ck," I munch, "this is ahmaz'ng."

"Yay!" She cheers, fist pumping goofily.

This time I swallow before smiling, making sure I don't have anything stuck in my teeth. "Brittany, you should totally do this for a living."

She chuckles before she points to the corner of my lips and her cheeks redden just a bit. "What?"

"You have um..."

I wipe my hand across my mouth. "Gone?"

She looks down with a smile before looking back up, lightly chewing on her bottom lip. Finally, she swipes her thumb over the corner of my mouth and chuckles low. "Now it is."

I smile nervously before I clear my throat. "Thanks."

There's an awkward pause before I think about Sugar's words and try to break the weird tension. "So um... Kaplutz day huh?"

Her face lightens up in realization and she quickly puts the éclairs back down before frowning apologetically. "God yeah, I should have told you not to come in today, I'm sorry."

I shrug, "It's okay. The streets were so empty I thought zombies had like, gnawed on the whole town while I was sleeping, so trust me I'm way more relieved than upset about this."

She laughs, "You watch a lot of TV don't you?"

"Yeah, it was kind of my only friend back in Philly."

She pouts and frowns, as if the idea doesn't bode too well with her. "Aw, really? How come?"

I scratch the back of my neck and lean back on one of the giant kitchen countertops, trying to choose my words carefully as she moves to stand next to me. "I just... didn't really care for my ex-husband's friends I guess. And in high school I was never the social type except for dumb reasons like popularity, so when I got married I kind of focused on writing and got lazier."

"What do you mean?"

"Well it's not like I never went out, but I never made the effort to meet new people. Except work related and everything, but you can't really rely on them when you're weeping on the bathroom floor thinking about your failed marriage."

"That's really sad," Brittany murmurs.

I'm looking down at the kitchen tiles but I can feel her eyes on me, so I turn my head and smile softly when our eyes meet. "Well, I intend on changing that, so don't pity me just yet."

She frowns, "I don't pity you. But for what it's worth Santana, I think you're shaping out to be a great friend."

She smiles widely and bumps my ass with hers, much like I did yesterday. "Ass bumping and ramblings included."

I roll my eyes but I think the smile splitting my face goes against my fake, offended expression. "Please, any more sweet words and you'll give me a cavity."

She laughs louder - the sort of laugh that's just pure warmth and music - and turns so she's now facing me. "Santana, I will never stop being sweet, and you will never stop being a big, closeted dork. Thus is a fact in life."

I arch an eyebrow, "Oh _really_?"

"Uh-huh."

"I'm sorry, who was singing 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' Wednesday afternoon?"

Her eyes widen, "You sneaked on me? I was in the back room!"

"Hey I needed guidance. You were too busy blasting a 90's song though," I shrug. "It's not my fault _you're_ the big closeted dork. I mean _literally_ Brittany, you were actually in a dark, closed off space singing a freakin' TMNT song and— ouch! Why the heck did you pinch me for?"

She pouts and crosses her arms. "That's verbal bullying, and I won't accept it."

"I'm the bully?" I squeak out. "You just pinched me!"

"Really? I don't think so."

"What? Brittany you just pinched me! My arm is red!"

"Nu-huh, maybe that was a mosquito bite. You can't prove it."

I gasp, "You - you are such a—"

"Nope, you can't insult your boss, now can you Santy Pantsy?"

Oh no she didn't. "Santy Pantsy? There is no way. NO way you are calling me that."

She giggles and hums as she looks at the éclairs with a sly smirk, and scoops some of the cream on her finger. My mouth is still wide open when she boops my nose with the same finger, and chuckles playfully.

"I'll tell you what. You wipe that off, drag your tiny sweet butt outside, and we'll trust Sugar and Sam with the diner so I can introduce you to Kaplutz. What do you say?"

"Fine," I grumble.

_Far, far away in your head, a tiny whip cracked._

"Awesome," Brittany grins.

She brings her finger to her mouth in a quick motion, pink tongue darting to lick off the rest of the cream, and then sets the éclairs in one of the giant fridges. As she scurries out of the kitchen, I hesitate before I sweep off the cream on my nose and taste it, sighing contentedly when the sweet taste of coffee hits my taste buds.

Three minutes later I'm out the door with Brittany and walking down the mostly deserted main street, the pavements a bit wet from the morning rain and the sky starting to clear out. I can't really appreciate the lack of clouds now though, because I still feel the need to correct Brittany's earlier words.

"By the way," I start, "I'll have you know J-Lo herself would kill to have my ass."

Brittany frowns confusedly, but her face lights up when she understand what I'm referring to. She smiles and brushes back some strands of her hair before she looks at me with a coy little smile. "Isn't she already in a relationship?"

"What? No I meant—you said my ass is tiny, so I'm saying even she would kill to have my ass. Litteraly my butt. Not _me_. Not kill to have my ass as in have me—"

"Santana?"

...

"I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Sorry."

* * *

Laynefax Museum of Natural History

* * *

A tiny, teeny, stuffed polar bear cub.

That's what Kaplutz day is all about. A watermelon sized polar bear with glass eyes, a weird type of stuffing that makes him look like he swallowed a cactus before dying, and his mouth forced into an unnatural smile. Victor Frankenstein couldn't have created anything like it, and he had experience in the field of monster making.

"This is..."

"Isn't it?" Brittany sighs.

"I mean he's just..."

"Isn't he?" She coos.

I don't even know how to say it, because if I do, I'm pretty sure she'll stick her shoe in my eye. And her shoes aren't like... flip flops. They have a heel, even if small, and Brittany, though delicate at first glance, is a strong woman.

I shudder. Lying it is.

"He's SO adorable!" I blurt out. My voice is high-pitched and so fake I can hear the Blue Fairy tsk at me and threaten to make my nose grow.

Brittany looks at me with a glint in her eye, surprised at my sudden outburst - what can I say, I'm a terrible actress - and then lets out a small laugh. "You think it's ridiculous."

"What? No! Absolutely not, I think it's good for a town to have animal representation. And look how small and" CREEPY "cute he is."

She smiles wordlessly before looking back at the bugger that'll probably plague my sleep tonight. "It's a town thing I guess, my grandmother was really big on celebrating the day. The story is a bit long, though."

I'm actually curious about the town's history, and Brittany looks like she wants to tell me about it, so I walk around Kaplutz and his platform and spot a small museum bench against a wall.

"I have time," I tell her.

She blushes before she grins, rocking back on her heels and sitting next to me. She takes a deep, serious breath and crosses her fingers on her lap. It all feels like I'm back to school to learn about an important event in history, but honestly I wouldn't mind Brittany teaching me a couple of things. She has a way of speaking that's so different but passionate, it's like she's constantly excited to talk, even about mundane things like a newspaper forgotten on a bench.

"When Laynefax was being planned out," she starts, "there were a couple of people who started disagreeing on the construction plans. One day it got so bad a whole group of people just left, and started building another town."

"Don't you just hate deserters," I joke.

"It's not funny Santana," she scolds. I bite my lip and look down, but then she lifts my chin up and winks.

"It's just the really dark ages of the town, so some of the oldies around here will get really upset about it, even if they weren't even born when it all happened," she chuckles. "Even April is still insulting the people from Marlow Pine. Once she chased two visitors down the street with a broom because they told her the Antique store in Marlow was cheaper. It was awful."

"Oh wow. So everyone here just hates everyone there?"

"No actually, that's what Kaplutz is for. Marlow Pine have a day for him too."

Somewhere, Alice in Wonderland is saying, _Curiouser and curiouser._

Brittany notices my confusion and picks at imaginary lint on her skirt. "Around 1946, there was a circus that stopped at the outskirts of the town. It was new and exciting and all the kids were eager to go, but it was literally in between Laynefax and Marlow Pine, so the people who went were kind of forced to be civil to each other. But..."

"...but what?" I ask. I'm surprised at my eagerness, the way my hands grip the edge of the bench like I'm about to be told the greatest mysteries in the world. Honestly, the messiah could pop in front of me and I'd still yell at him to shove off so I can hear Brittany finish her story.

"But," she finally says, "the circus had a pregnant polar bear, and they had to stop the show in panic because their veterinarian was sick and in another town. So they asked for someone in the audience to help, and two guys volunteered to help deliver her cubs. It was awful though... blood everywhere - the mama bear was restless and kept moving because she thought her babies were in danger, and then eventually she died. Later on the cubs died too because the mom was dead..."

...

"_What_? All this and they die? What kind of crack awful story is this?"

Brittany shakes her head and gets up, pointing at Kaplutz with a smirk. "Everyone but this little fellow. Well he did eventually die a few weeks later, but still."

"Brittany... this is... depressing!"

She shrugs and sits down next to me again, leaning against the wall and looking at me with a twinkle in her eye. "Tragedies make good stories."

"Right. Well I still don't know what the bear has got to do with the two towns."

"Ah, but you see, the two guys who helped were from Laynefax and Marlow Pine. After the bloody disaster... the circus left them with the cub. They took care of it as best as they could, named him, and brought our towns together. They restored peace with their alliance..."

"Wow, this is actually cheesier than I thought."

"Oh come on, it's not that cheesy a story. The bear did still die super young. I mean look at him..." she sighs, pouting adorably.

"Yeah, he's a real sight for sore eyes."

"Rude," she bumps me with her elbow.

I look at her with a frown, "How do you know that wasn't honest?"

To my surprise, she laughs. "Well, was it?"

I frown and grumble, "No it was not. But I swear sometimes I wonder if you're not a mind reader."

"I don't know... I guess I can read you well," she wonders out lout. Then she looks at me and asks, "Is that okay?"

I look back at the light blue eyes just staring at me so sweetly and nod. "That's fine."

* * *

After our tour at the museum, Brittany took me out to visit the town. She called Sugar to tell her and Sam they could go home if they wanted, but that they should lock up behind and leave the keys in the sixth flower pot near the entrance. We walked for so long I didn't even see the time fly. We actually walked until we reached Marlow Pine, then took a detour to grab a snack. I wasn't complaining; Brittany talked about everything and anything, and then asked me about my life in Philly. I didn't want to go too much into details, but somehow I got to tell her about high school, the books I'd written and life after my wedding.

I think she sensed it's a delicate topic so she didn't ask too much into it, but she doesn't seem to pity me either which I really appreciate. It was around 5:30 p.m. that we stopped at the local bar, probably the only one open at this time on this day. Brittany is now at the counter getting us drinks, and I'm sitting at our high table, looking around and wondering what the hell is up with the framed pictures of tortoises and platypuses.

Unsurprisingly, Brittany is laughing and chatting with the bartender, which she probably knows from middle school or something like that. I can't help my eyes from staring at her more intently. Lately, I've been catching myself looking at women differently. The first time I went grocery shopping, this tall brunette took the last jar of tomato sauce, but instead of being annoyed, I couldn't stop thinking, "Well that's a pretty face." Not that odd, I guess, but when I trail my eyes down curves and smooth skin now, I can't really blame it on normal female curiosity anymore.

Looking at Brittany, how simply stunning she is with chocolate on her cheek or a fry behind her ear instead of her pen - she can be ditzy like that - I don't feel so sure about who I am anymore. It's not a bad feeling, just different and new.

"Hey pretty," someone says.

I snap out of my thoughts and find myself looking at a guy my age, give or take a few years, with a lazy smirk on his face. I'm sat on a high bar stool so I'm about his height, but he still manages to look down at me. "Are you passing through? I've never seen you around."

I hesitate before my eyes glance back at Brittany. "Um no, I live here now."

His eyes light up and he smirks harder now. He reeks of alcohol, but he doesn't really seem all that drunk. "How about a date next week? To celebrate you living here," he winks.

Talk about shit game, but the trick is not to anger him. He looks strong and I don't want to take my chances by being rude.

"I'm busy with work, sorry."

"Not even for one night?" He reiterates.

Crap, I'm really rusty at this. How do you let a guy down without being a total bitch about it?

"Look I'm not looking for anyone—"

"I don't believe that," he chuckles, "a gorgeous woman like you isn't the type to stay single for long. Besides—"

"Who said she's single?" A voice cuts him off.

Next thing I know, Brittany's arm is around my waist and her body is so close to mine I can feel her breasts pressed against my back. _Well._

The guy chuckles and straightens himself up. "Brittany. You're always one step ahead, huh?"

"It's not hard Marvin, you move like a slowpoke."

"Ouch. But hey, I'm an open guy, how about a—"

"No," she growls.

"Well damn Britt, why don't you let your little friend answer."

I don't know what this guy is on — because really the only thing I'm registering right now is the way the pads of Brittany's fingers feel against the exposed bit of skin between my jeans and my t-shirt — but there is no way I'm opening my mouth to say something stupid.

"Look," Brittany groans, "she's here with me, so just back off."

Though it seems like the guy got the message, her arm still tightens around my waist. I can't help the fluttery feeling in my gut, the way I lean back just a bit because it feels that good to be held like this. How long has it been since I've even felt this fire?

"A'right Brittany, don't get your panties in a twist jeez."

He smiles crookedly, the kind of smile you fake because your ego got bruised big time, and walks back to the bar, signaling the bartender in a quick, bitter-filled motion.

"I'm sorry," Brittany sighs, taking a step back - oh how I miss that arm - and looking at me with apologetic eyes. "It's really the only way to have him back off."

"That's fine," I brush off, trying to clear my throat. Instead I start coughing like a mad woman because it's dry and I just irritated it, so I take a quick swig of the ice blue drink Brittany brought over.

"You okay?" Brittany asks. She's got a sweet smile on her face and her hand is hovering over my back, most likely ready to tap it if I start coughing again.

"Yeah, I think it's been a long day."

She nods, "I'll walk you home after our drinks, 'kay?"

My stomach is too twisted to protest, so I agree and try not stumbling and falling face down on the floor when her hand touches my lower back again.

* * *

When we get home, I'm not too sure how to end the night. I want to ask her to come in for a cup of coffee perhaps, but we were just at the bar and maybe that'd be weird or something. I'm a complete noob with this communication thing; maybe I ought to get one of those "basic human interaction for losers" book. I'm sure that exists somewhere in the dark crevices of a shoddy bookstore.

"I miss this house," Brittany sighs. We've just passed the front garden and I can see Snix splayed on the couch from the window. Her tongue is sticking out and I'd bet $50 there's drool all over the carpet. Joy. She must be bored out of her doggy mind - I really need to sign her up to that daycare for dogs thing. Roz, my neighbor, told me it's a bit out of town, but I can take the car before work.

"I'm happy for Quinn though," Brittany said again. I think she noticed I was spacing out.

"Yeah, that sounds like such an amazing thing to do."

"Definitely."

"So um... do you want to come in or something?" I ask. "I could make some coffee if you'd like."

Brittany seems to hesitate but after a few seconds she shakes her head. "I should really go home, I need to get up extra early for the cookies tomorrow," she smiles.

"Right," I chuckle.

There's a pause and her eyes seem to want to add something, but then they drop to my lips and my heart squeezes just a bit. I can see her swallow before she snaps out of it and says, "Well, goodnight Santana."

It takes me a few seconds to realize nothing happened, so I quickly smile back. "Goodnight Britt."

Once I'm inside, Snix's head lifts up and she moves around on the couch when I sit next to her. There isn't any drool in sight, so I pet her thankfully and scratch her behind her ears. She drops her head back on my lap and I sigh, wondering if it's so wrong to feel so good with Brittany.

* * *

an: Thank you for your reviews last chapter, you guys are better than warm chocolate chip muffins.


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